


Nothing Like Summer in the City

by FreshBrains



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Banter, Community: femslash_kink, F/F, Friends With Benefits, Not Wearing Underwear, Outdoor Sex, POV Claire Temple, Recreational Drug Use, Semi-Public Sex, Summer, Tribadism, Tumblr: femslashrevolution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 21:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7862584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a nice day, and the trees give them some shade, and nobody in Hell’s Kitchen gives a shit about two adult women getting high at three in the afternoon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Like Summer in the City

**Author's Note:**

> For the DW Femslash_Kink prompt [Daredevil, Karen/Claire, public sex](http://femslash-kink.dreamwidth.org/15813.html?thread=2092485#cmt2092485) and the Tumblr FemslashRevolution Summer Scorcher 2016 prompts: [Exhibitionism](http://femslashrevolution.tumblr.com/post/149363814250/summer-scorcher-2016-day-2-prompts), [“She smelled like all the best parts of summer, x, and x, and salt sweet sweat…” ](http://femslashrevolution.tumblr.com/post/149363814250/summer-scorcher-2016-day-2-prompts), and [not wearing any underwear](http://femslashrevolution.tumblr.com/post/149434446065/summer-scorcher-2016-day-3-prompts).

“As a nurse, I really shouldn’t be condoning this,” Claire says. In one hand, she’s got the remnants of a Five Guys burger, grease seeping through the wax paper and dripping down her wrist. In the other, she has a half-smoked joint balanced between her index and middle fingers, smoke curling away with the brief summer breeze.

“But as a woman who has had a really, really long week?” Karen opens one eye, peeking up at Claire from where she’s lying on her back in the stubby, yellowing grass.

Claire takes a hit, the smoke instantly making her grin. “Then I’d say this is just what the doctor ordered.”

Karen giggles—honest-to-god _giggles,_ her nose scrunching in a way that makes Claire want to eat her whole—and snatches the burger away from Claire. She takes a huge bite, mustard dabbing the corner of her mouth, and tosses the wrapper aside. “I haven’t done this since high school.”

“What? Eaten fast food?” Claire nudges Karen with her knee. “Skipped work to hang out with your boss’ one-woman secret EMS service?”

“Smoked up,” Karen says, rolling her eyes. She’s even cuter when she’s high—she’s got a dopey smile on her face, her eyes are bright and glassy, and she just seems _looser_ , like a thousand pounds just slipped right off her bony shoulders. She also looks amazing in her little pink and white sundress…especially where the hem is riding up on her thighs. “Where’d you even get this, anyways?”

“A friend,” Claire says breezily. _Hawkeye_ , she says to herself, because this is her life now, but it isn’t Karen’s (yet), so she refrains. It’s good stuff—she hasn’t gotten high in a few years, but all she had in high school was the skunk weed her brothers could pick up off the street. She was usually too busy for bullshitting, anyways. “Where’d you get that dress?”

This time, Karen opens both eyes. She laughs, a crinkle appearing between her eyebrows. “Jeez, I don’t know.” She smooths her hands down the skirt, making the material cling to her thighs. The hem hits above the knee, but is looks shorter from where she’s on her back in the grass, legs bent, her pale skin spotted with the sun coming through the sparse trees overhead in Hell’s Kitchen Park. They don’t have as much privacy as they’d like—they can still see the teenagers playing tennis only yards away on the crumbling courts, and children’s laughter filters through from the playground closer to the street. But it’s a nice day, and the trees give them some shade, and nobody in Hell’s Kitchen gives a shit about two adult women getting high at three in the afternoon.

“It looks nice on you,” Claire says, taking another hit. She’d ask Karen if she wants to shotgun, to press their lips together loosely and share the smoke between their bodies, but Karen would be too shy. Karen’s dress has buttons on the bodice—three little buttons, white plastic, following the line of her cleavage. She’s not wearing a bra, and Claire can see the small, sweet points of her nipples beneath the cotton. “You look good in a dress.”

Karen laughs again, and this time, her face flushes. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Only the cute ones,” Claire says easily. She’s always been good at this—the easy flirting, the back-and-forth. It was easy with Matt, then Jessica, but in the end, nothing could _stay_ easy with them. They were complicated people, all of them, and not built for the sort of relationship Claire wanted. _Maybe I’m the complicated one_ , she thinks.

Karen sits up, silky hair falling over her shoulders. “Why do you say that?”

Realizing she was speaking out loud, Claire just smiles and shakes her head. “Never mind,” she says, carding her fingers through Karen’s sweat-damp hair. “Doesn’t matter. Nothing matters today.”

Karen laughs, easing herself up off the grass. Stray blades stick to her legs and arms and she brushes them away before sliding easily into Claire’s lap, legs on either side of Claire’s hips. “I think,” she says, taking the joint from Claire, “that’s the weed talking.”

Someone’s bicycle bell clangs from the sidewalk, jolting Claire back into reality, back into the fact that they’re in public, but it doesn’t seem to really sink in. Karen’s eyes are too clear and blue, her skin too soft. “Let it talk,” Claire says, surprised at how husky her voice has become, and leans in to kiss Karen, one hand curling into her hair.

With a sweet noise of surprise, Karen sinks eagerly into the kiss, lips greasy from the burger but tasting like fragrant smoke. She rests her arms on Claire’s shoulders, letting Claire take the lead, letting her hands roam.

“Come here, scoot forward,” Claire says, backing them up until she feels the dry bark of their shade tree against her back, the gnarled root digging against her thigh. Karen shuffles on her knees, returning to her place in Claire’s lap, and she’s so _warm_ , so soft and firm where she’s straddling Claire’s thigh, and…

It hits Claire like a dizzying bolt of lightning, makes her groan high in her throat even as they kiss. “You’re not wearing underwear,” she says. She presses one palm into the small of Karen’s sweat-damp back, urging her to rock against her thigh, ride it; the other hand digs five fingertip bruises into Karen’s bare thigh, just beneath the hem of her dress.

Like magic, Karen goes completely red from hairline to collarbone, ducking sweetly to nose at Claire’s jaw. “It’s hot,” she says, as if Claire was even _looking_ for an explanation, as if the situation needs one. “Just gets in the way.” She squirms, spreading her legs wider, looking for more friction against her bare clit. “Besides,” she says, gasping when Claire digs one heel into the ground and bends her leg upwards, “no one knows but you.”

Those words alone make Claire’s cunt throb, make the blood rush in her ears. She’s had just about enough of secrets, of what lurks in the shadows of Hell’s Kitchen, but this little secret right here? It’s enough to get her through whatever may come her way. “I’m going to get you off,” she says urgently, the need to make Karen come surging through her body. She clasps both hands on Karen’s him, bunching the cotton of her dress between her fingertips. “Right here, in this damn park.”

Karen sighs, tilting her head back. “Put that out first,” she manages, nodding towards the grass, “before we start a wildfire.” Claire tamps out the joint and tucks what’s left into her bag. Karen wriggles in her lap, and she returns her hands to her hips. She thinks Karen might like a bit of that—being held down, being controlled. She seems like the type who wants to give that up once in a while. “Now,” Karen says, cupping Claire’s face in her hands, “make me come.” When she kisses Claire, she takes over her senses, surrounding her. She smells like all the best parts of summer—smoke, and heat, and salt-sweet sweat.

Claire moves one hand to the front of Karen’s dress, rubbing at her pubic bone, slowly letting it drift to the center until Karen arches and gasps. Claire feels for her clit through the fabric, knowing how amazing it must feel, that hot friction. She urges Claire to lean in, bracing her hands on Claire’s shoulders, so she can ride against Claire’s thigh.

“You’re the best part of my days lately,” Karen says, voice a tender gasp, eyes screwed shut. Claire can tell she’s close, so she pulls Karen in hard, getting her to that hard rub of no return, and when Karen comes, she feels it against her clothed thigh, a tightening, a damp rush.

The park is quiet around them, and they realize that the sun has gone down. It isn’t raining yet, but they can smell the tang of it on the air and hear it in the trees, the signs of an incoming storm. Karen breathes steadily, coming down from the high, curled in Claire’s arms.

“Just a little bit longer,” she says, and Claire nods.

“Long as you want, sweetheart,” she says, and means it.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Broadway musical _Hamilton_


End file.
